The Moment I Knew
by ChoirOfFuries
Summary: It's Wendy's Sweet 16 tonight and she has everything a teenage girl could ever want for her party- except her dignity, of course. As she suffers through hours of loneliness and despair, she waits patiently for the love of her life to walk through those doors; the only gift she wants tonight. *Mostly an internal monologue* *Based on The Moment I Knew by Taylor Swift*


"Happy 16th birthday- Wanda, is it?"

"Thank you." I utter with yet another plastic grin, not bothering to correct the oh-so-terrible butchering of my name. I don't even recognize half the people who decided to show up at this crap-fest you call a party. I begged my mother continuously not to have this party, but she always had this idea of dressing her daughter up in makeup and heels, only to have a not-so-rosy me parade around a hall of drunken guests who may or may not be looking at me the wrong way. Don't get me wrong- I understand my mother wasn't able to have her own Sweet 16 when she was younger, but something about all of this just seems cruel and unusual.

If anything, majority of the guests only came to win 'social points' from my mother, or whatever the hell you call those things that decide your worth and who you can talk to. Everyone admires my mother and everybody wants her to notice them somehow, which includes coming to a Sweet 16 supposedly meant for a teenage girl that suddenly becomes a Sweet 40 for that same girl's mother. _"You ungrateful bitch!"_ Mother raged as she smacked her palm across my cheek. _"After all I've done for you, this is how you react?"_ No matter how hard I try to forget it, that same scene from earlier this morning runs through my mind repeatedly. Maybe if Stan was here, I'd be able to distract myself. I try to suppress the pessimism to make her happy, but I can't help but slip in a frown every now and then. Is this supposed to be the most magical night of my life? The night those teenage girls in the movies obsess over to no end, with the pretty-pink dresses and heels as tall as a tower?

Seeing how she believes most of my friends are rotten asswipes, I consider myself quite lucky she even let me invite any of my friends. Except Bebe, of course; Mother treats that girl like her own daughter, so she just HAD to come. If I should be straightforward, all I really want is Stan here. Every day for the past two weeks, he would assure me he was going to attend this party no matter what. _"Don't worry, babe, I'll be there." "What should I wear?" "I'll stay the entire night with you."_

Bull.

"Wendy, hey!" Bebe hollers as she makes her way over to my table. "This party is, like, going so great! Come on, what are you doing standin' around here? Why aren't ya dancin'?" She questions with a slur. It's just like her to drink at every party she attends.

"Oh, just waiting for Stan..." I respond with a shrug before peering out the windows of the hall.

I can feel her gaze burning the back of my head. I know what she's thinking: that I'm delusional, that Stan's a douchebag, that he chose to go play video games instead of coming to my party, but I didn't need a perfect princess like her questioning my mindset or insulting my boyfriend when her own boy toy is always playing around on the side. "Wendy...he's an hour late..." She clutches my shoulder, causing me to suddenly turn and stare into her pity-filled eyes. "Just give him a little more time. I'm sure he's still getting ready. I really need to get back to Clyde; he's waiting for me." She shoots me a faint smile before walking back to Clyde and our 'friends'. At least someone was happy tonight.

I desperately keep my eyes on the window, foolishly thinking each new person that steps in will be Stan- only to be disappointed. The time was ticking, with only five lovely hours left of this moronic party. "Boo!" I feel a harsh exertion on my back and my head smashes against the wall.

I turn around rapidly to see a familiar bulbous figure cackling audibly. "Cartman, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Don't be so uptight, Wendy. At least I didn't mess up your curls."

"Oh, yes, you're right; the curls are what I'm worried about and not any possible brain damage you may have caused me." Of all the people I expected to make my night even shittier, I surprisingly left out Eric Cartman. "What the hell are you doing here, anyways? You're being paid fifteen bucks an hour to DJ, not assault me."

"Butters is taking care of it for me." He lowers his voice to a whisper, leaning in towards my ear after searching for any possible eavesdroppers. "Listen, I gotta make a quick run to the shop right around the corner, just please don't tell your folks I left because it'll only be about five minutes, I promise."

"What? You can't just-"

"Wendy, piece of advice, okay?" He reaches for what I presume to be a flask and discreetly hands it over to me. "Take a drink and lighten up a bit, alright? Refills are over in the corner by the stereo if you need it." He pats my stomach and sends me a wink before heading out the double doors.

I slip the flask in my torso as the padding would make it almost unrecognizable and take a seat once more, continuing my waiting game from earlier. After some time passes, I decide to head inside the ball to chat a little bit with any family members who bothered to come. I canvass the area until I see my Great Aunt Mimi socializing with some of my cousins. "Aunt Mimi!"

She searches around to find the source of the voice and finds me standing near, resulting in an instant beam on her face. "Wendy, oh how I've missed you, dear." We share an embrace and she plants a kiss on my forehead like she used to when I was a little girl. "How have you been? How's everything going for you?"

I think back to my memories as I recall the constant arguments I've been having with my mother and the endless, torturous days at school and figure she wouldn't want to hear about any of that, so I concoct an idea that my life has been all sunshine and roses. "Amazing, really. I couldn't be happier. How about yourself, is everything okay with Uncle Morty?"

"Oh, dear, old Morty has got the same old back pain as usual, but we're here about you, honey! How's that boyfriend of yours, uh, Steve? No, Stanley! Where is he, I'm just dying to meet him!" They excitedly search around the hall to see any signs of him.

My smile slowly fades away, "Actually...he hasn't shown up, yet."

"Oh..." Aunt Mimi pecks at my forehead once more as to bury her visible disappointment at Stan's absence before sauntering off with her other friends._ That went great._

I took a seat in the far corner of the room where nobody could notice me drinking my sadness away. _As if they'd want to pay attention, anyways._ I down most of the contents of the flask, which I presume to be whiskey, within minutes. It was likely a bad decision, but I needed something to get through the night. Hours pass and there was still no sign of Stan. The last text I received from him was in the morning when he asked me what time he should come; I told him to come at six, right on the dot. It was now eleven o'clock and he was nowhere to be seen.

"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" The peppiness in my mother's voice was enough to make me dread what was about to come next. "My darling, dear Wendy- would you please come join us? "

A wave of applause travels through the room. As I stagger across the room, dozens of eyes follow my every move, raising my anxiety levels through the roof. I attempt not to violently trip after every step, moving very slowly until I reach the stage with my parents, where they give me the harshest stares for my drunken behavior. I take the microphone from their hands and clear my throat, preparing myself for a potential disaster. "Oh, hello. I'm Wendy. I say that because I'm sure most of you don't actually know who I am- I mean, come on, Wanda?" Some of the guests laugh at my remark, while others send nasty looks, specifically the woman who made that 'Wanda' comment. "I just wanted to say...Happy Birthday, mom. Happy Birthday, Bebe. Happy FREAKIN' birthday to everyone except me, the girl everyone ignored for five hours straight, the ungrateful bitch. I hope everyone has had a pleasant time today, really. I especially would like to thank my lovely boyfriend, who broke his promise and decided not to show. I'm so grateful for everyone." Silence fills the room as joyful faces soon become concerned as my eyes start to noticeably water.

I could sense a nauseated feeling in my stomach, along with the feeling of the rice from earlier rushing back up my throat. "Sorry, um, could you excuse me?" After handing the microphone off to my father, I run off the stage and hurry into the bathroom to relieve myself of my nausea.

Soon after, I hear powerful knocking at the bathroom door. _It's probably Mother._ "Wendy, are you okay in there?"

"Kyle?"

"Wendy, do you need me to call someone for you? You sounded pretty sick there."

"I'm okay, Kyle. Just leave me alone." I pull out my phone to call Stan. _No answer._ "Why won't you ANSWER?" I throw my phone forcibly at the mirror. _I'm gonna regret that in the morning._ "He said he'd be here."

Who I assume to be Kenny stepped in, sounding genuinely concerned. "Wendy, I'm sorry Stan isn't here. I'm sure something is wrong with him. He just wouldn't do this. I can call him right now to see what's up."

"No!" I snap. If I provoke him any further, he might get pissed at me the next day. I don't see the point in trying anymore; it's not worth it. "Don't call him, don't text him, don't even ask him about it the next day. I'm sorry I fucked up your time at this party...I just can't."

I didn't want him thinking I need him here, that I wasn't having a good time. I mean, what could I possibly say to him about tonight? And what could you possibly do when the one that means the most to you is the one that didn't show up?

It's two A.M. and I'm finally at home, resting in my bed. I was hoping to at least receive a birthday call from Stan, but nothing came up. I was close to giving up when I heard my phone ring. The frustratingly cracked screen and blurry vision make it hard to read the caller ID, but I made it out to be Stan.

After a few seconds of debating picking up the phone, I click accept, only to hear him say in the most nonchalant and strung-out manner, "Hey, Wendy, happy birthday. Sorry I didn't make it."

I feel the need to scream. To cry. I can't, however, so I just take a deep breath and reply before hanging up the phone, "I'm sorry, too."

And that was the moment I knew.


End file.
